


Caitlin Snow is Quite Cordially Kidnapped

by weekend_conspiracy_theorist



Series: Leather Jackets and Lab Coats [5]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Kidnapping, Late Night Conversations, Sharing a Bed, Strong emotions about pancakes, basically I tried to cram as many tropes into this thing as I could, wearing each other's clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 12:58:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5457308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weekend_conspiracy_theorist/pseuds/weekend_conspiracy_theorist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caitlin falls off of a building, and Lisa Snart is the one who catches her. Lisa's distinctly unamused by the Flash's inability to take care of his friends--so she "kidnaps" Caitlin for a weekend while she figures out how she can make him be more careful.</p><p>Caitlin enjoys herself a lot more than she expects to.</p><p>(Written for Flarrow Femslash Week: Day Five)</p><p>(Stands alone.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caitlin Snow is Quite Cordially Kidnapped

**Author's Note:**

> *puts my chin in my hands* look, I really care about these two falling in love, okay?
> 
> other things I care about: Lisa having cats, Lisa's cats being named after Star Trek characters, Lisa going full-Glider on the show (the ridiculous costume, the skates), Lisa and Cisco being besties...

Caitlin screws her eyes shut against the tug of the wind, against the sight of the ground that’s rushing up to meet her. Her phone weighs heavy in her pocket, and she considers, briefly, trying to call Barry, even though he’s on the other side of the country for a convention of forensic scientists. But it might break him for good this time, if she asks him to save her but he gets here too late.

No, it’s better if—

A hand clasps around her wrist, tight and unyielding as it tugs against her freefall, and Caitlin’s eyes snap open.

Lisa Snart, as Golden Glider, skates downward alongside her, gradually decelerating as she goes, until she’s dragged Caitlin to a stop thirty feet or so from the ground. She relinquishes Caitlin’s wrist in favor of a hand on either side of her waist and pulls Caitlin close, carefully guiding her feet to the “solid” support of the ice sheets produced by the skates.

Caitlin clutches at Lisa’s shoulders, eyes as wide as they had been shut moments ago. Lisa watches her patiently for a short moment, before raising an eyebrow and saying casually, “Nice of you to drop by.”

Caitlin feels her knees go weak. Equations fly through her mind, gravity and drag adding up to a terminal velocity that would shatter bones and—"I think I’m going to pass out,“ Caitlin whispers, and Lisa nods.

"That seems perfectly fair,” she agrees, and she’s scooping Caitlin up into her arms even as the world turns black.

Caitlin wakes up on a couch that is more comfortable than her bed in an apartment that’s a weird mix of opulence and disarray, to the smell of pancakes and the sound of Lisa Snart singing along to the radio.

The television takes up most of the far wall, edged on either side by shelves that are full to the bursting with an eclectic array of movies in no discernible order, and the coffee table is littered with blueprints and half-assembled pieces of tech that would probably have Cisco clapping his hands with glee. The couch is leather (black, naturally), humongous, and creaks as Caitlin sits up, rubbing her vaguely-pounding head with one hand.

Lisa is an awful singer, but somehow Caitlin thinks that telling her that would just spur her on.

She moves carefully as she gets to her feet, expecting to feel sore—it feels like she should be after such a traumatic event, you know? Her wrist, at least, would have made sense to be a little tender, but, given Lisa’s decision to bring them to a gradual stop rather than just snatch her out of the air, even it feels fine. She’s barefoot, she notices, and on a second look she spots her shoes on the floor next to the front door, in the midst of a dozen haphazardly strewn pairs ranging from sneakers to heels to the Golden Glider skates.

Caitlin almost grabs them and leaves, but it seems fairly… impolite. Given that Lisa saved her life, and everything.

In the kitchen, Lisa gives a huff of annoyance as the radio fades to commercial and deftly pours a perfect circle of batter onto the griddle. Caitlin moves over to the edge between the soft, dark grey carpet of the main room and the pale grey tile of the kitchen, and she pats her pockets in search of her phone. She comes up empty, frowns—did she lose it in the fall?

“What day is it?” she calls, and Lisa glances over her shoulder, smiling ever-so-slightly.

“You were only out for about half an hour,” she tells Caitlin, laughing, and flips one of the pancakes. There’s already a towering stack on a vibrantly red plastic plate next to the griddle. “Feel free to grab some OJ out of the fridge; I’m almost done here.”

“Pancakes are a breakfast food,” Caitlin says, blankly. If she was only asleep for an hour, then it can only be mid-afternoon.

Lisa turns, pointing the spatula at Caitlin with a serious expression on her face. “Pancakes are a gift from the gods, fit to be consumed at any time and for any purpose, including coaxing a pretty girl to explain to me why my post-lunch stroll was disrupted in favor of a rescue mission.”

“Is ‘post-lunch stroll’ code for 'early afternoon bank heist’?” Caitlin asks suspiciously, but she does pad over to the fridge and rifle through it for the carton of orange juice.

“Tomayto, tomahto,” Lisa tells her with a shrug. She moves the last of the pancakes over to the plate, slathers a rather concerning amount of butter across it, and then transfers the plate to her dining room table—an elegant chrome and glass number that Caitlin would compliment her on, if she didn’t know that it had been paid for with stolen money. “Not that I’ve ever actually met anyone who says tomahto,” she muses as she retrieves two glasses for the orange juice.

“I think they say it that way in Britain,” Caitlin says and passes Lisa the carton; the thief barks a laugh.

“Do they re—” she breaks off as a phone trills, and Caitlin almost reaches for her pocket before she remembers that she doesn’t have her cell. Lisa sets the orange juice on the counter, fishes the phone out of her skinny jeans- and yes, it _is_ Caitlin’s, and yes, Caitlin _does_ have a bad feeling about this- and swipes to answer.

“Caitlin’s phone,” she purrs, leaning casually against the counter. She listens for a long moment- holds out a hand to keep Caitlin from edging closer and potentially trying to steal it back- and then hums. “I have her phone because I’ve kidnapped her,” she explains patiently. “Something I wouldn’t have had to do if you, Flash- and yes…” she pulls the phone away from her ear, checking the caller ID, “Barry Allen, I am capable of recognizing your voice, so thanks for finally solving that mystery for me. Anyway, I wouldn’t have kidnapped her if you had been around to keep her from hitting pavement instead of me.”

Caitlin can hear Barry’s anxious shrieking from where she stands, and she buries her face in her hands. Lisa shifts close enough to pat her sympathetically on the shoulder, as if the shrieking isn’t her own fault.

After five minutes or so, she drawls, “Did you finally stop, or have you hit a pitch undetectable by the human ear?” She laughs. “You’re too sweet, Barnaby. Tell you what, I’ll give her back once you prove you’re capable of taking care of her properly. I haven’t decided yet how you can do that, but once I do I’ll send Len over with my list of demands. Ta ta.” She hangs up, sliding Caitlin’s phone back into her pocket as she turns a sunny grin on- apparently- her _hostage_.

Caitlin stares back at her in disbelief. “I have a job,” she says, slowly.

Lisa shrugs. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. I’ve got a few days to think of something before it becomes a problem.”

“I have a life!”

“Do you?” Lisa raises an eyebrow. “Outside of the Flash, I mean.”

Caitlin opens her mouth, thinks about the anatomy of her friend group, and then shuts it again with a snap and a huff. “I don’t like you, and I don’t want to spend a weekend with you,” she mutters, petulant.

Lisa laughs, moves to pat her on the shoulder. “You do. You say you don’t because you’re uptight and self-righteous and protective of your friends, to whom you think I’m a danger, but against your better judgment you actually do like me.” She smiles sympathetically, pats Caitlin on the shoulder again, and walks around her to the table. “Now come on, the pancakes are going to get cold.”

Caitlin takes the seat across from Lisa, frowning and slouching moodily in the seat. A large, ginger cat leaps onto the seat next to her, sniffing curiously at her knee, and Lisa offers her the plate of pancakes.

“This is the most ridiculous day of my life,” Caitlin tells the cat.

***

“I wasn’t pushed.” Caitlin’s lying in bed next to Lisa- Lisa’s guest bedroom is currently unsuitable for habitation and they both refuse to take the couch- staring blankly at the ceiling. “I didn’t jump either; I… God, this is embarrassing.” She turns her head to the side, blowing forcibly out through her nose, pursing her lips slightly. The light sneaking in through the blinds paints Lisa’s profile in shadows, highlights the sharpness of her cheekbones and brow. “I tripped,” Caitlin tells her.

“You tripped,” Lisa repeats, and Caitlin appreciates the obvious effort she’s putting into not laughing. “How did you manage to trip and fall off of a building?”

Caitlin turns her head back to the ceiling, drapes an arm over her eyes with a groan. “I don’t even know. I was—okay, background.” She lowers her arm, bites her lip as she figures out how to explain. “Cisco and I have been trying to build a detailed, three dimensional computer model of the city to help when we’re coordinating Barry’s movements during fights and such. I was collecting data—that area of the city has shockingly few useful security cameras, so I was filming by hand for us to analyze later. I was leaning over the railing, trying to get an image of this one alleyway, and I guess I just—” she splays out her hands, grimaces. “I tripped.” She pinches her nose. “And the camera fell out of my hand and got left behind on the sidewalk, so all of that and I still don’t have the film we need.”

Lisa runs her hand down her face. “You’re just clumsy. I’d say I feel embarrassed over telling off the Flash, but I’m never embarrassed.” She yawns, adds, “Not to mention it’s still a valid point.”

“I’m a grown woman who makes her own choices, Lisa. He’s not required to keep me safe when I’ve placed myself in danger.” Caitlin turns to look at her once more, finds her looking back this time.

“I know that, Caity, trust me.” Lisa laughs, this sharp little sound with a thousand broken edges. (Caitlin thinks about what it must be like, to be a woman in the world of crime, and she thinks she understands where they’re from.) “But it doesn’t change the fact that you’re only human, playing on the same field as people who can run faster than the speed of sound, as people who can summon storms and turn into gas and fly and a hundred other things that he is much, much more qualified to handle. Is it his responsibility to protect you from them?” she shrugs. “He put on that suit, and he made everyone’s safety his responsibility.”

“That’s not fair to him and you know it,” Caitlin murmurs. “He’s only human, even if he’s a meta. He can’t save everyone.”

“Life’s not fair, honey.” Lisa rolls over onto her side, back facing Caitlin, and adjusts her pillow. “And he can definitely save you.”

***

Cisco shows up the next morning around eleven. Lisa answers the door, stays firmly placed between Cisco and the apartment, eyes narrowed. (Caitlin waves from the couch, which is just as comfortable to sit on as to sleep on, but she doesn’t get up; one of Lisa’s cats- there are three, as she discovered that morning when she woke up surrounded by them- is settled firmly in her lap.)

“You can’t have her back,” she tells him tartly, and Cisco raises his hands innocently, showcasing the bag of Chinese take-out and DVD copy of _The Princess Bride_ he’s brought with him.

“Just here to hang out. Maybe also make sure Cait’s fine to assuage Barry, who is nearly vibrating through the floor with worry and ran all the way back here from California, but mostly just to hang out.” He leans around Lisa, jerks his chin in a slight nod. “Hey, Cait. I see Kirk’s decided your lap is worthy.”

“Kirk’s a ham; everyone’s lap is worthy.” But Lisa steps aside, allowing Cisco into the apartment, and that’s about the moment that Cait realizes that a) Cisco knows Lisa’s address, b) Cisco knows the names of Lisa’s cats, and c) that copy of _The Princess Bride_ isn’t for them to watch—it’s being returned to a gap in Lisa’s movie collection that Cisco’s moving to like second nature.

“You two are friends!” She points back and forth between them, eyes wide with surprise, and Cisco freezes with the movie only halfway in place.

Lisa strolls across her kitchen to put the takeout in the fridge, shrugging. “Of course we’re friends; why wouldn’t we be friends?”

“You kidnapped him and gave his brother frostbite?!?”

“We’ve come to terms with our differences,” Cisco tells her weakly, sliding the case fully onto the shelf, and moves to sit next to her. “Besides, it doesn’t seem like you’re putting up much of a fight about being here.” He glances over her, raises an eyebrow. “You even seem to be wearing her clothes.”

Caitlin huffs, crosses her arms over the soft tank top that hangs off her shoulders, just slightly too big. “She rescued me and it seemed rude to just skip out, and then I found out I was kidnapped and trying to leave would probably get me shot, or something!” And that’s all one hundred percent true, yet she still kind of feels like it’s a lie—like sitting around on Lisa’s couch, half-watching America’s Next Top Model and half-discussing her grad school thesis and Lisa’s first solo heist, surrounded by the smell of Lisa’s spicy, citrusy perfume, is the most relaxed she’s felt in weeks.

“Do you really think that?” Lisa’s voice is low, half-anger, half-disappointment—her face, when Caitlin and Cisco turn back to look at her, reads with the same emotions. “Snow, I told the Flash I was keeping you here to keep you safe, so why the hell would I hurt you?” She slams the refrigerator door closed, then abruptly takes a step back, breathing in sharply. “I had no intentions of trying to prevent you from leaving if you told me you wanted to,” she says, and all Caitlin can see is the broad plane of her back, held rigidly straight.

Caitlin feels her eyes go wide, struggles to find some way to apologize that Lisa can’t misinterpret as an attempt to calm her out of fear. “Lisa, I—”

“It’s fine.” Lisa closes her eyes, sucks in a breath, and then she’s the composed, flirty, charismatic Lisa that Caitlin’s used to. “I _was_ the one who used the word kidnapping. It did make it sound like I wasn’t going to give you a choice, hm?” She laughs, shrugs off the moment, and joins them on the couch—she drapes herself across the length of it, propping her back against the armrest next to Cisco and using Cisco’s lap as a seat, tucks her toes underneath Caitlin. “We’re rooting for Teyona,” she informs Cisco, cuddling in slightly against his chest.

Caitlin bites her lip, exchanges a worried glance with Cisco. “She’s rooting for Teyona,” she finally says, giving in to the change of topic. “I’m rooting for Allison.”

“That’s because she has no taste,” Lisa says with a sniff.

“Says the woman who runs around in yellow spandex and faux fur?” Caitlin asks, raising an eyebrow—and the previous argument is set behind them completely as Lisa straightens, smirking.

“Oh, Sweetcheeks, you did not want to go there,” she purrs, drapes an arm around Cisco’s neck as she says challengingly, “You dressed your hero in red leather, darling; how is that any better?”

Their bickering carries them through several episodes, until Cisco begs them to call a truce and shifts the topic to helping him brainstorm his own costume. When that too devolves into bickering- “Gauntlets,” Lisa insists. “But what about—” “ _Gauntlets_.”- he throws up his hands, and shoves Lisa off of his lap.

“This is ridiculous,” he states firmly, stepping over the rather offended thief on the floor and dodging the cat that darted off of Cait’s lap in shock, then walks purposefully to the kitchen. “We’re going to eat food now, and you’re both going to play nice or so help me Priestess Shayera—”

“Here that?” Lisa whispers, under the sound of Cisco’s continued ranting, and Caitlin leans down on her elbow so she can see Lisa’s face, raising an eyebrow questioningly. Lisa smirks up at her, folding her hands behind her head. “We have to play nice,” she says, wiggles her eyebrows slightly.

Caitlin snorts, rises to her feet- grimaces at the protest of limbs that have been in the same position for hours on end- and nudges Lisa lightly in the ribs with one foot as she walks around the couch to join Cisco in the kitchen. “You’re ridiculous,” she informs her.

(There’s a grin tugging at her lips anyway.)

***

“I’m going back to my normal life tomorrow,” Caitlin tells Lisa. She hadn’t been able to imagine leaving Saturday, after the debacle upon Cisco’s arrival, but now it’s Sunday around seven in the evening, and it seems reasonable to leave with the completion of the weekend.

Lisa’s curtains are thrown wide, leaving the room painted in oranges and yellows and pinks from the sunset as they sprawl across Lisa’s freakishly soft carpet (why is everything in this apartment so comfortable?) sharing ice cream straight out of the carton. Caitlin’s wearing one of Lisa’s _Star Trek_ t-shirts, soft and faded with age, along with a pair of yoga pants that she’s very seriously considering stealing, and Lisa’s joined her in dressing for comfort—a tank top and a pair of sweats that Caitlin suspects were both once the elder Snart’s.

“I haven’t decided yet what demands I’m placing on Bradford,” Lisa says, sighing. “But I guess you can just tell him that if you fall off another building and he’s not the one who catches you, I’ll be paying him a midnight visit.” She picks a piece of cat hair out of the ice cream, makes a face.

“I may have thought of a solution.” Caitlin sticks her spoon into the ice cream for storage and meets Lisa’s eyes with a tentative smile.

“Yeah?” Lisa raises an eyebrow, sets her own spoon down. “Gonna share with the class, cupcake?”

“Instead of demanding that Barry spend an unnecessary amount of time looking after me when it’s not his job,” Caitlin begins, dropping her eyes from Lisa’s to where her own fingers toy nervously with the fibers of the carpet. She can feel her cheeks heating, clears her throat and forces herself to continue. “Instead of all of that, you could just… give me your number.”

“Could I?” Lisa asks neutrally. Caitlin doesn’t dare look up to see the expression on her face.

“Yes, yes you could. And then if I’m ever in trouble and Barry’s not available, I could call you. And…”

“And?” Lisa prompts. The ice cream carton is lifted out of Caitlin’s periphery.

“And I could also use it to ask you out on a date?” Caitlin lifts her eyes, biting her lip, and finds that Lisa’s slid closer to her, smirking.

“Where would you take me on this hypothetical date?” Lisa asks, nudging Caitlin’s shoulder to roll her onto her back, moving to straddle her. (Smirk still firmly in place.)

Caitlin hums thoughtfully- her face is cooling off now, knowing that Lisa’s on board- and taps a finger on her lips. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” she admits. “Where would you, hypothetically, want to go?”

Lisa lowers herself from the heels of her hands to her elbows, narrowing her eyes in consideration. “I’ve never done a museum date before. Well—” she snickers—"not when I wasn’t planning to knock it over afterwards.“

"Maybe we’ll just start with dinner and a movie.”

“We 'will?’” Lisa raises her eyebrows—though Cait can barely tell, from how close Lisa’s face is to hers, from how focused she is on Lisa’s lips and the warmth of her breath brushing Cait’s own. “I thought we were talking about hypotheticals here, Cait. I’m not sure I’m comfortable with—”

“Shut up and kiss me, Snart.”

“Bossy,” Lisa breathes, but she does it anyway.


End file.
